


Ithilrien

by Bergamot17



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Kings & Queens, Obsession, Triplets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bergamot17/pseuds/Bergamot17
Summary: The fall of both Elwing, and SirionorA rambling brainstorm of an idea, that will hopefully become a bigger better story, where a female protagonist rules all of Arda. Maybe.





	Ithilrien

Fog crowded the streets of the Haven of Sirion, it rolled into the town at some point in the night and broke under the heat of the rising sun dissipating back to the shadows and sea. In the evenings the setting sun would turn the world gold, as the very air of the haven lit from within in a display of beauty greater than even the light of Elwing’s simiril. 

It took six days for Elwing to recover from the birth of her three children. She was young to be a mother, only 29, and had struggled for forty hours to bring three tiny infants into the world. Two boys and a girl, she saw them briefly for those few minutes she was awake after the birth, before the midwife and her ladies in waiting swept them away to wash and feed them. 

She noted their looks briefly, the boys with their dark hair and grey eyes, and the girl whose colouring came from her father, blue eyes surrounded by bright hair darkened by the mess of birth. It was on the fourth day after their birth that Elwing learned the boys were identical as her own brothers had been. 

On the sixth day Elwing was roused from bed and dressed for court, for the first time since her wedding to Eärendil she wore the silmirilon. 

***

Guards near to the palace in the Haven of Sirion stared out into a fog so thick even their elven eyes did little good, and flinched at each wail of pain overheard from their young queen.

“Take heart Maindir, the birth will not last much longer,” said Brethil as he clapped his hand to his jumpy companions shoulder. “just think how good it will be to have a child here in Sirion.”

“I’m as excited to meet the new princeling or princess as you Brethil, even more so for an end to the Queens pain. I was on shift yesterday morning when they started. It must be a trait of the half elven for birth to be so difficult.” Maindir replied before another cry reached them thorough the fog. 

“I am certain the Queen is up to the task, soon enough there will be young ones at home in the Haven. By the time we are off shift for the day we will have a new heir to the throne and a celebration in swing in the barracks. You can buy the first round of wine tonight if I am right,” Brethil laughed before moving on down his rounds along the palace wall. 

“Happy would I be to celebrate with you, if you are right!” cried Maindir to his retreating back, “if they are twins as the midwives predicted I’ll even treat you to the good wine, and not the house blend!” 

The laugh issued in response was interrupted by a wail, this time from an infant.

***

“My lady, you must push again, come now, it is easier after the first.” 

The encouragement and prodding of numerous handmaidens and midwives had little effect on Elwing after so long in labour. Nothing had prepared her for the struggle she now endured and little comfort could be found from these elleth, none of whom she truly desired with her. Ladies of the court and advisors who forced their way in promising to help ease the birth but who had done nothing but watch and be useless as far as Elwing could tell.

She wanted her mother, but her mother was dead. Her mother in law might have helped if the difficulties she faced was indeed because of her half eleven nature, but her mother was gone she had abandoned her in search of Valinor to save her aging husband. Elwing’s own Eärendil had left her too, again in search of hope or salvation for those elves both dying and nearly defeated left in Beleriand. He too had sailed away years ago. 

Elwing was alone, exhausted, and terrified. She stared into the light of the silmiril from where it rested in its holding place directly above her bed, held aloft by the four posts. The light distracted her from the pain and reminded her of her mother. She continued to ignore the crowd in her room, not wanting the pain, the attention, or the pestering if she must face it alone. Better to look at the silmaril and feel comfort, than heed those around her. 

She had looked at the first child she bore before some nameless lady had carried it away for cleaning, it was a tiny thing much smaller than she had thought possible, the infant was repulsive covered in blood and gore. It stared at her from the arms of the nameless woman and its eyes conveyed a curiosity she had no energy to placate. Elwing turned away from its gaze, back to her silmiril. 

The birth didn’t end her suffering, she couldn't rest yet, there was another waiting to escape her body, flooding her with reverberating waves of tension and release. Disgusted by the produce, it was so much better to stare at the beautiful silmiril and ignore her body and its cries, the pain she felt, the pressure of all the witnesses in the room, could they not sympathize, could they not give her peace? Through it all the birth continued, her own children careless of their mothers pain, how many could there be, she felt no end to the pain after the second birth, barely noticed it. 

Water in her face roused her, voices spoke around her, clamoring for her attention and rising in volume, though she couldn't hear the spoken words. An end to her pain was briefly noted before the darkness edged in again. The silmaril was the last thing Elwing saw before peace closed in again. 

***

“The stars are pretty tonight”  
“I like the waves, they roll in the distance but are so loud when they hit the cliffs. Look how the waves crash upon the rocks and fall back to the ocean again as little white specks like stars in a universe of their own.”  
“I prefer the light of the moon. It runs along the tops of roofs and dances above the waves free to touch and go where it pleases. It glows with such a pale light, see how it covers the waves with light like a blanket spread out over Arda?”

Naming conversations with young elflings are quite common, Elwing has heard. She hardly remembers her first days but elves are born with a rudimentary understanding of language, as they have herd it from within the womb and the ability to speak. She hadn’t expected to find her children awake at this late hour, but she was finally awake after falling into a healing sleep after giving birth and couldn't wait for morning to look in on her children. Elwing had refused to ask her handmaidens or the children's nursemaids for information about how the three had spent their first week, while she was unaware of it all, jealous of the time others had had with her children, and not wanting the censure of strangers while she learned about them herself. 

Peeking into the nursery she spotted three little bodies, standing on a sofa gazing out into the night. The gauzy curtains blew gently with the wind and obscured the triplets from her with each silent motion. Filling with wind, flicking aside and falling back against the infants in a gentle caress. 

To the left stood her two boys their hair hung straight like their fathers, but was dark as ink in the night like her own. To the right, arching up to her tip-toes stretched her daughter, her pale hair glowed in the moonlight. Elwing's breath caught looking in at her three children, the twin boys so reminding her of her elder brothers, while the little girls blonde hair looked silver in the moonlight, and not gold as she knew it must be. Her sons appeared to be little Noldor princes, but her daughter couldn't be mistaken for anything but a Sindar in the black of night. Her brothers and mother had sported the silver hair of the Sindar and to see it again on her own child gave Elwing hope that she could love this new family as she had loved and adored her old one.

Overcome with a desire to meet her children, and know their faces Elwing finally entered their room. Interrupting their observations about the stars, the sky and the sea. 

***

In their six years living in Sirion, the triplets had met their father twice. The first time they had been a surprise to the returned Eärendil. He hadn't expected to find children at all, never the less he didn't stay long, he was called to the sea, driven by a longing to find Valinor and he trusted his young wife to bee the queen and mother their people needed. He was home for all of two months before he left again. He was blind to all but his love for Elwing and his quest to gain aid from the Valar for those elves battling Morgoth and his armies in middle earth. 

The next time Eärendil returned he stayed for less time, more desperate to return to the water and, possibly, if he was more aware than he led his children to believe, to avoid the confrontation with Elwing and her council over the use of the silmiril. By the time of his second visit, when the twins were five, the letters from Maehedros had begun to arrive demanding the return of the silmiril and Elwing openly wore her jewel in defiance of the kinslayers. 

After the birth of her children, Elwing was rarely parted from the silmiril. She wore it near constantly, either under her clothes for discretion or under gauzy scarves that couldn't hide its brilliant light. 

She and her council had become like addicts, both convinced its light was theirs to hoard and use as they wished, and that to hide it away would be a sign of weakness and taken as an admission that the silmiril was stolen instead of a divine gift inherited by the Queen of the Sindar. They feared that outsiders would steal it away and word would reach the Fëanorians that the silmiril of Dior was in Sirion. They left the Fëeanorians to steal the remaining two from Morgoth, and kept their own close.

While their father had only been physically present in the children's lives twice, you could argue that their mother had only been fully present mentally on the night she named them, before the silmiril’s hold became a daily part of her life and stole her away from the living. She dictated to their tutors what they would learn, when prompted by her council or their nursemaid. When the librarian mentioned Elros had excelled at drawing maps, or her daughter enjoyed the poetry of Rúmil and that Elrond was quite the linguist she acknowledged their talents with kind but negligent words of praise and promised new books, public recitals of favourite passages and offers of introduction to foreign dignitaries that were never, or rarely fulfilled. Elwing’s children ached for her attention, as brief as it was, but satisfied themselves with childish entertainment and games.

The only time their mother devoted her full attention to her children was at their second meeting, when she spied on them at night and gave them their names. Elrond, meaning starry dome, for the son who loved the light of the stars best, Elros was named star spray, for his love of the waves, and her daughter she named Ithilrien, a moon crowned lady. Elwing had spent the rest of the night and early morning learning about her children, and their first days and experiences of life. 

Once the triplets were a year and a half old, and able to hold conversation and understand the rules of court the triplets were expected to obey they were introduced to the court formally by their mother. They were washed and brushed, dried and pampered before being dressed in tiny robes of blue silk embroidered with stars and the symbols of their house and status as the princes and princess of the Sindar and of the Havens of Sirion and Doraith, as well as princess and princess of the Noldor hailing from Godnolin, of the line of the High Kings. 

When looking at her offspring in their ceremonial robes and behaving with the grace and poise instilled in them by strict nursemaids and tutors, Elwing found she was faced with strangers. Her children in the light of day weighed down with ceremony and titles looked foreign. Where were the little sindar heirs who reminded her of her lost family? Her sons looked like the Noldor, with their dark hair reminding her more of her brothers killers than her self. The boys were tall for their young age, but their faces were odd as well, bearing many markings of their human heritage in the shape of their jaws and a slight roughness to their features she was sure would grow with age. 

In contrast the daughter she had named for the silver moon shone golden bright under the sun. Her face held no hint of humanity, Elwing could tell she was a true elven beauty, in possession of the delicate petite features of the Vanyar of whom so few were in Arda, inherited from her husbands family, but her stature gave away the truth, she was not natural. She stood barely at the height of her brothers shoulders, with the fragile look of an alien fairy. 

Elriel’s golden appearance might please the Gondolindrim in the crowd, and they will no doubt note the Noldoran features her sons possess but Elwing could hardly bear to see the three sworn in to the court as her heirs. It should have been her older brothers, or her father in her place and bitterness clouded her mind whenever thoughts of her three children intruded. 

The last time the children felt their mothers attention was the first time they met their father. They had been busy at lessons when Eärendil had come bursting into the library towing their laughing mother by the hand. He had joyfully demanded that she introduce him to their children. The triplets had spent the afternoon until supper time entertaining both their parents, thrilled to be played with and adored. Their parents would laugh and clap as the three fought to outshine each other with displays of wit and talent. In their fathers presence their mother did not wear her silmiril, she left it on its perch above her throne with guards in place around it, and though her hand hovered at her bare neck, Elwing looked beautiful without the light bleaching her skin and overshadowing her own light. 

***

With stomaches growling unhappily three tiny elves sat silently squished into the back of their a dark closet. 

An hour or so before sunrise, palace guards had lifted them from their beds to be carried to the harbour. Word had come in that the Fëanorians were marching on Sirion to reclaim Elwing’s silmiril, and wanting to protect their princes and princess from the fate Eluréd and Elruin had suffered at their hands, they were to be taken to a ship and carried to their cousin Gil-Galad’s court on the isle of Balar. There they would be safe and could call upon Gil-Galad as the new High King to help defend Sirion and hopefully prevent the third kinslaying.

They hadn’t made it halfway to the ship before smoke clouded the streets. The warning had not come fast enough and the enemy was upon them. They burned the ships preventing escape while the city gates and walls inland were quickly claimed by the advancing forces. 

The guards retreated to the palace and hid the children in the queens private treasury, locked up in the back of her wardrobe. 

“Sit down Elros,” hissed Elrond.

“I will not, it has been quiet long enough, we should try to leave now.” Elros hissed back. 

Ithilrían had been watching her brothers snipe at each other for less than an hour and was quickly losing patience with them. “Be quiet, I can still hear footsteps in the halls, and I’d rather wait for our people to find us than draw some Fëanorian to us with arguments.” 

“The battle has slowed, Elros, the guards ought to find us soon enough.” Elrond added in a whisper.

“The guards are dead Elrond, we didn’t hear it so long ago that you could have forgotten. I too can hear the footsteps in the palace Ithilrían, but that just means we can avoid them. If the Fëanorians have indeed sacked the city, do you think they won’t search in mothers personal vault? If we leave now we might escape notice, but staying here is worse. I am eldest and I say it is time to go.” Elros shook himself free of his siblings and moved again to the doorway. 

Ithilrían was timid and shy and would wait forever if she could, and Elrond caved to her too often. He would force them to be bold if he couldn't use diplomacy and rhetoric like their tutors encouraged. His younger siblings could argue and discuss an issue to death with him, but he would not let that happen to them today.

Flipping the latch, Elros peeked out of the doorway. The room was undisturbed and he edged out of the closet. “It’s clear, let’s go,” he urged.

Ithilrian’s fingers sunk into the back of his tunic as Elrond pressed her forwards. Holding hands the triplets dashed through their mothers suite. 

“Wait, listen,” there are voices downstairs, we cannot get out,” stressed Ithilrian. “We should go up, to the roof garden. We know all the hiding places there and they won’t search a garden like they will the queen’s rooms. If it is safe, we can take the staircase to the sea from the tower. It is the best way out Elros.”

“Very well Ithilrian. Let us be quick.” Elros pushed open the door, it opened halfway when with a heavy thunk it hit the body of an elf. The guard was collapsed in a bloody heap, his eyes looked back at Elros. Elros froze, and he heard Ithilrian gasp behind him. He recognized the guard, his wife was a cook, whose sweet bread was his favourite recipe, he would sneek him one whenever she baked them. 

“He is with Mandos now. There is no time to wait, we have to go.” urged Elrond. While his siblings continued to stare he braced himself and closed the guards eyes before shoving his siblings down the hall. There was more evidence of the fighting having passed through the halls. Smoke billowed in through arched windows and curtains were torn from the walls. They saw no more bodies as they scampered up the stairs, pausing at each corner to listen and look carefully. 

A grand curving staircase in a circular tower led up to the roof gardens of the palace. They stuck out over the cliff and covered the whole of the roof. There were grottos and pools, deep thickets and young trees where the children had played many games of hide and seek. They reached the roof unseen and slipped into the greenery. 

“Let’s hide near the stairs, we can look out from the watchtower over the bay and see what we can.” Elrond directed. With nods his twin and sister agreed, and taking each others hands again they moved to the far side of the garden. 

Halfway there they heard voices, and ducked behind a large plant. They could see two tall warrior elves. Their swords were drawn and they spoke gently to a figure in white hidden behind them. 

“Please Elwing, come away from the ledge. We wish you no harm, but the silmiril is ours and we will see it reclaimed.” spoke the elf with long black curls

“The silmiril is my own. My peoples sign of hope and peace. You have no claim to it.” Their mothers voice replied. The children tensed and it was only due to the fact that they were still holding hands that Elros did not dash forwards to confront the men threatening his mother. 

“Let me go, they threaten our mother.” demanded Elros.

“No brother, their swords are not raised, she is safe enough talking to them for the moment. You will get yourself killed if you confront them now. Listen we will reveal ourselves if we can help.” Elrond reasoned with his brother lowly. The three edged forwards slowly, putting their mother into their line of sight at last. She was uninjured and this allowed Ithilrian to further calm her oldest brother. She may be too cautious at times, but her eldest brother’s rashness would endanger them if left unchecked in present circumstances. 

“It is not your inheritance, daughter of thieves. It is ours and if you give it to us, we will order our troops withdraw, the kinslaying may end and we will leave you in peace.” The red haired man had a voice like flame, cracking out and roiling with power and threat.

“Gil-galad is coming, the masts of his ships are fast approaching” replied Elwing. “My people will be avenged soon enough, and will never see you with a silmiril.” 

“Think of your children Elwing, they are yet safe and if we leave now with the gem they will remain so.” urged the black haired elf.

“You are faithless murderers, you have no proof that my children still live. I don’t believe your warriors would stay their swords when confronted with innocents given the way they have laid to waste the city behind me. Their victims from Doraith and now Sirion will not forget their callousness in Mandos hall anytime soon.” Elwing stood before the sons of Fëanor and covered the silmiril with her hand. “If you but return to me my children, my innocent brothers and crime less mother to me unharmed I will return to you the jewel.” Elwing concluded her bargaining with a cruel twisted smile upon her face. 

“There is no way to return your deceased family to you Elwing. We too mourn the loss of innocent life. If you wish it we will find your children and bring them unharmed to you in exchange for peace and the silmiril bound around your throat.” The black haired ellen returned his sword to his scabbard as a show of faith. His red haired companion relaxed his stance slightly but kept his gaze fixed on Elwing, ready to intercede if she threatened to throw herself from the cliff again.

“Do you believe they would leave here peacefully in exchange for the gem?” Elros asked of his siblings. “We could go out there now and save mother from them and stop the city from burning. Is it not worth the risk?”

“If we must exchange ourselves for peace in the city and the safety of our people I think we should.” Elrond voiced his opinion, “We are young, but they look to their princess to aid them in their time of need. We must do our duty as the princes and princess of the Morquendi and Gondolindrim peoples. Let us exchange ourselves for their safety.”

“For whatever reason I do not doubt the words of the black haired one, but rather our mothers ability to give up the silmiril. She demanded the safe return of all her slaughtered kin, and proof of our safety will not free her of their memory.” cautioned Ithilrian. 

“She shows her love poorly Ithilrian, but she will give up the jewel for us. Do not doubt our mother so sister.” Elros was indignant, and taking each of his siblings hands he pulled them from safety. Set to do their duty to their people and save those that remained. 

“Mother!” cried Elros. “The city burns and our people suffer, but let it now come to an end. We are untouched by the violence of the day and there are still those in the city who might be safe if our enemy withdraws. I offer myself Elros, son of Elwing and Eärendil prince of the Morquendi and the Gondolindrim, as hostage, to be traded for peace in Sirion and Elwing’s silmiril.” 

“In exchange for our safe return, give over the silmiril and let this conflict end. Our allies fast approach and salvation is at hand but peace with the Fëanorian’s will never last so long as their treasure is ours. Let peace be ours. I offer myself Elrond, son of Elwing and Eärendil prince of the Morquendi and the Gondolindrim, as hostage, to be traded for peace in Sirion and Elwing’s silmiril.”

“What beauty the silmiril once held has been tainted by blood. Mother, see it not as a symbol of hope for our people, but as a treasure given freely to those with whom we have quarreled, as a promise of peace in our future. Wars waged with elvan lives over a stone, no matter how beautiful, waste what resources we have in Aman.” Ithilrian stood between her brothers a wisp of a thing. 

She looked so insubstantial when contrasted with the strength and solidity of the tall dark twin guardians at either shoulder Elwing thought. She radiated light as the sun set on Sirion, her pale gold hair turning Silvan silver in the night, picking out her brothers profiles with her glow, and exaggerating the shadows on the other half of their faces. Her children stood tall and proud bargaining for peace as if the silmiril was theirs to offer. For all that she looked like Nimloth reborn in the darkening night, Elwing had never felt so estranged from her children.

“Mother, the memory of those lost in Doraith will live on in us, but the threat of the Fëanorians may yet be extinguished. Let us unify against Morgoth, our common enemy, and in the name of all elves slain in middle earth, forge an alliance which will perform great deeds together. Let those lives lost be remembered in victory, and not bitterness Mother. I beg you return to them their father’s silmiril. I offer myself, Ithilrian daughter of Elwing and Eärendil, princess of the Morquendi and the Gondolindrim, as hostage, to be traded for peace in Sirion and Elwing’s silmiril.”

The last orange glow of the setting sun left the sky as the little princess finished her speech, and silence fell upon the occupants of the roof of the royal palace in Sirion. 

With great dignity, the red haired ellon moved forwards to stand before these little would be rulers. He sheathed his sword with a great sweeping motion which forced the triplets to retreat a step, and knelt before them. 

“I Maehedros, the first son of Fëanor do accept you as hostages that you may live at my mercy until such a time as your Mothers silmiril is returned to the sons of Fëanor, and in exchange we will have peace with your peoples. You have been both wise and brave for ones so young.” He gently rose and stood behind the children resting a heavy possessive hand on each Elros and Elrond’s shoulders. 

“I Maglor, second son of Fëanor do stand as witness to the triplet royals of the peoples of Doraith, Gondolin, and Sirion. Elros, Elrond and Ithirian Peredhil bargain for peace with us, the last remaining sons of Fëanor. We guarantee an end to the violence in Sirion and their safe return to their people upon the reception of the silmiril in their mothers possession.” 

“What say you, Elwing? Will we have peace as your children have offered? They are skilled orators and you must be proud, to see them offer themselves in service to your people.”

Elwing looked down at her children and a look of horror overtook her features so disturbing that all five witnesses to it recoiled.

“I cannot give you peace, I cannot save my children or end the suffering of my people. All those who escaped Doraith with the silmiril and I swore to never return it to you. Please, Maehedros, just as your oath compels you mine dictates my actions, I beg of you, do not extract revenge from my children, whom I must abandon to your care. I Elwing daughter of the slain Dior and Nimloth, refugee of Doraith have nothing to offer you. The silmiril is my own, and I will keep it, it belongs to all those who rest now in the halls of Mandos. May I never see you there.”

With that Elwing climbed upon the fortification and threw herself into the sea. Maglor rushed to the edge and saw her body rush towards the rocks and violent waves far below. Her white robes swirled around her and a flock of white birds circling in the cove surrounded her body, as if to slow its decent. Maglor watched in despair and awe as in a flash of light Elwing’s body dissolved and one bird lit with the light of the silmiril rose above the rest and soared away into the grey clouds rising above a darker ocean. 

Elros screamed now and called his beloved mother back to him, while Elrond dragged him back from the edge of the walls where they last saw their mother. He wept tears of grief and shock at their abandonment and pulled his sister to him, the three children cuddled close “She has abandoned us all, her children and living subjects, she was only ever queen of a memory.” Elrond spoke.

“She has abandoned us, and yet we are not alone.” Ithilrian added looking over her shoulder at Maehedros and addressed him, “What will the sons of Fëanor do now that the silmiril is beyond all our reaches?” 

“Well children, your mother has escaped this city, and now we must do the same. The forces of Gil-Galad have reached the harbour and their vengeance need not be faced today, or ever, if he still treasures the lives of his kin. With you as our hostages we will face no armed pursuit.” Maehedros spoke. He reached into the clump of children and took the girl and one of the boys into his arms, they struggled but he squeezed them tight in threat and they fell silent and still. Maglor scooped up the third and they marched through the destroyed palace, headless of the dead they passed. 

The Fëanorian forces had stormed the city and taken the palace quickly, using its defenses to keep out the citizens as they tore through it in search of the silmiril. Looking out it was clear that the damage was worst done nearest to them, and that many of their subjects were left free to flea towards the mouth of Sirion, though all their ships had been burned. Maehedros’ soldiers sat en masse upon horses ready to flee the city before any counterattack could be mounted. While the last preparations for departure were seen to, Maglor told the story of the loss of the silmiril and taking of hostages to his herald. The herald was tasked to stay behind on the road out of Sirion and telling Gil-Galad that any vengeance taken against the forces of Fëanor would result in the death of a child of Elwing. 

Maehedros mounted up and took Ithilrian into his arms. Maglor rode beside him with a fidgeting and angry Elros. 

“Give that child to the Herald,” ordered Maehedros. “Keep him with you as proof that at least one of Elwing’s children will die if he does not comply. Let Elrond tell the tail of their surrender. We will look to see you again in two weeks time at Amon Ereb.” 

With that parting order Maehedros rode to the front of his warriors and led the riders from Sirion. Headless to the cries of the child in his arms and the one beside him hurling insults at his captors. Elros shouted threats of his vengeance if Elrond suffered under the heralds care. 

***

Ithilrian had ridden before, sitting with counselors or teachers through the streets of Sirion or to visit her cousin Thranduil to the south settled nearer the Mouth of Sirion. Never had a ride been so uncomfortable, she couldn't relax in the arms of the ellon who had starred as a monster in more than one of her bedtime stories. The ellon behind her was the tallest she had ever seen, and while he was beautiful, he was also cold and cruel, His plate armor made for an uncomfortable bed. She could see Elros asleep in the arms of his captor and tears rolled down her face to think of Elrond, alone wondering about their fate just as she contemplated his. 

“The night grows cold baby princess,” Maehedros spoke before draping his warm cloak about her. “Do not worry so for your brother, Gil-Galad will not risk harming his own kin, you may rest safely tonight knowing your sacrifice moved the sons of Fëanor to end their attack on the city instead of raising it to the ground as we did Doraith when we lost the silmiril after a long and costly battle in the woods.” 

“I find I have little faith left for kin,” Ithidrian’s response was morose. The ride had lasted long enough that the shock of being dismissed by her mother for a stone had begun to sink in. “My relation to the Noldorian king, is nearly as distant as the one I share with you, and you value my life only so long as it benefits you.” Ithilrian spoke softly with the same poise she used earlier in the day. “And I am not a baby, I am nearly seven years old.” 

“Do not despair of all kin, baby princess. I have sworn to destroy all who keep the silmiril from their rightful owners, but you and your brothers offered to return my fathers greatest treasure to us.” With a half mad smirk and light laugh Maehedros added, “and I have never killed a princess before, do you not know that as a noble ellon I am sworn to protect those delicate flowers of our courts like yourself? Is it some prehedel trait that you appear no older than three and yet claim a greater age?” 

“My brothers and I are six, and I have heard it said that the race of men is not so tall as the elves though no one questions my brothers about their age. My brothers are the proper height for a six year old edain, are they not? I believe they have a greater resemblance to men in their features, like my father is said to have, though their colouring they look more like a Noldor than you do.” Ithilrian twisted in Maehedro’s lap and tugged gently on his red hair to make her point, and he flicked her hand away with all the attention he would pay a bothersome fly. “It is a cold comfort that you should promise not to harm me when Elros is not twelve feet away in danger if your mood changes and Elrond is alone with some warrior who doubtless was a participant in the sack of Doraith where my uncles who were three years older than I am now were killed.” 

“It was the mad followers of Celegorm that abandoned Elured and Elurin in the forest. They have since been ended by my own hand. I searched for your uncles for as long as I could in that bleak forest. I tracked the footsteps of two young children in the snow for six days before I found the bodies of a young scullery maid and stable boy, frozen in the weather and feasted upon by wolves. The cost of war is great, and doesn't spell the end for princes alone. Instead it is paid by all and for their loss, as well as your uncles, I mourn, but this oath I have taken drives me ever onwards. So long as you and your brothers do not oppose our quest for the Silmirils, you will be as safe as I can keep you.” Maehedros promised.

“I will accept your remorse and promise of safety if Elrond is brought back unharmed by your Harold. I have heard you were once fond of my grandmother Idril. Is it true that she named you uncle, in her youth under the light of the two trees in Valinor?”  
Ithilrian asked, her words slowing and diction less clear and precise than it had been as she slowly drifted towards sleep in Maehedros arms. 

Pulling the little glowing princess towards him, Maehedros took the time to note her small features, they were more reminiscent of his step grandmother Indis’ Vanyar looks than of Idril who looked Noldoran save her golden hair. “She did call me uncle once upon a time, perhaps one day you will call me one as well. Now it is late and we ride through the night princess, get some sleep.” 

***

Elros and Ithilrian had been in Amon Ereb for four days when Elrond arrived. They were sitting at the head table in the great hall eating dinner when the Harold was announced in the hall and he entered leading Elrond with a hand on his shoulder. Elros was out of his chair before the announcement was complete and was locked in an embrace with his twin within the blink of an eye. Ithilrian wasn't far behind she was pulled into her brothers embrace and as a clump they stood in the center of the great hall. Ithilrian and Elros dragged their brother up to the head table and began filling a plate for him lavishing attention onto him and checking him over for injuries while he struggled to stay awake now that he was warm and with his siblings and a great deal of stress was removed.


End file.
